


The Perks of Tattoos

by Insignias



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Gen, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-20
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-17 21:57:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11860443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Insignias/pseuds/Insignias
Summary: Lance finally decides to get the tattoos he's been dreaming about for years, lucky for him Pidge knows just the place.





	The Perks of Tattoos

**Author's Note:**

> Twitter fic I decided to revamp. Hopefully not the only one soon! Thanks for reading!
> 
> Also it's un-beta'd. We all have to live with my mistakes.

Lance leaned forward, ready smile on his lips as he chatted up the pretty young woman at the counter, Pidge elbowing him ruthlessly as he charmed his way into her heart and stilled the tremble in his hands. He was nervous as hell; standing in the waiting area of the tattoo parlor, thick sheaf of paper crammed into the back of his too-skinny jeans, waiting to be taken in the back and hopefully make it through the event with dignity intact.

The young woman behind the counter hummed at him, noncommittal, typing away as she listened to his rambling; indulgent if distracted. Lance appreciated her sacrifice, even if he couldn't help but compliment her tattoos; the pride of lions circling down the length of her arm, how a set of flowers curled gently behind her ear.

"OK, dude, I think we get it," Pidge chided, finally, shooing him away from the counter, "Why don't you take five and let Allura get some work done."

"Aw, Pidge, don't be jealous," He teased, ruffling her hair. "You know you're my forever girl."

Pidge snorted, batting his hand away, "Oh my god, go away, your dude is here anyway."

Lance blinked, unprepared, and swung his attention to the doorway where a tall man peeked through, eyebrows raised and expression caught halfway between amusement and concern.

"Lance?" He asked, speculative, and the younger man swallowed. Tall and muscular, the new addition practically filled the doorway with his casual bulk. His tank top strained with the effort to keep itself on him and Lance didn't blame it; with a body like that he'd have the same reaction. He stared, helpless, as warm, dark eyes surveyed them, crinkling at the edges as he smiled. “You're Lance, right?” 

“Yup, that's me,” Lance chirped, shoving his hands in his jacket; desperately casual. “You're Shiro, I take it?” 

Shiro nodded, stepping forward to hold out his hand, “Yeah. Nice to meet you.” Lance fumbled one of his out and shook it, eyes drawn to the smooth twist of muscle on Shiro's forearm. Holy shit. 

“Likewise,” he managed, grinning, then opened his dumb mouth again. “Do you lift people with this arm? Because damn.” 

Shiro blinked, and let out a burst of laughter. Lance pinked up, torn between abject horror and the still burning image of it. Pidge made some sort of dying sound behind him; Lance agreed.

“Probably not?” Shiro managed after a few moments; smiling broad and contagious, “I've never tried it.” 

Lance whistled; tried not to offer himself up for practice, “You should totally do that, dude, I bet it'd be awesome.” 

Shiro hummed, indulgent but distracted as Allura handing him a clipboard, tucking it under his arm, “We'll see. You ready?” 

Lance nodded, tipping himself forward when Shiro motioned him to follow. He shot a look at Pidge, making his confused face and come-with-me gesture, but she only offered an encouraging wave and a too-smug wink for his efforts. Lance blinked and stuck his tongue out, annoyed by her abandonment, and narrowly dodged an introduction with the door frame.

“Whoops.” He muttered, stomach lurching, and righted himself as Shiro glanced behind him. Lance waved him off, tucking his hands deep in his pockets and whistling innocently.

He followed Shiro though a short hallway, the drone of tattoo equipment and conversation filtering through the open doorways until they came to a small room at the back of the building; well-lit and covered in various stages of work, from flash to mock-ups of custom designs. Lance paused at the entrance, overwhelmed by the sheer magnitude of it; almost every surface taken up by something intricate and beautiful. “Wow.”

Shiro glanced at him as he settled into a chair, a large padded seat acting as a table, a second chair opposite, clearly for clients. When his gaze tracked Lance's, he smiled, warming up again. Lance would do a lot to see that smile again. “I like to show off my favorites.” 

Lance nodded, quiet, hesitating before he finally stepped forward, something indescribable coiling in his chest. These were hours, months, of work and pain, creating something beautiful on skin that would last a lifetime. And Lance was finally going to join that, to feel those needles and pain and watch as something he'd dream about for years finally paint its way onto his skin. 

He settled into in the chair, quiet and hopefully casual, as Shiro scratched a few notes onto the clipboard, then looked up, “So what do you want to do today? Your notes say a sleeve?” 

“Oh, right, right,” Lance fumbled for his paper, unfolding it with shaking fingers, “Sorry they're all bent,” He confessed, smoothing them out in habit, “but I thought it'd be best if I brought a lot of stuff.” 

“No, no, it's fine.” Shiro assured him, spreading the pages out. It was then Lance noticed his arm—a metal prosthetic, sculpted into a realistic shape to match his other, the only give away the thin metal fingers held loose on the table. It was covered in stickers and mock-up designs, a little worn at the joints.

“Oh,” Lance breathed, surprised, “Holy shit, dude.” 

Shiro paused, glancing up at him in confusion, “Dude that looks fucking wicked. Did you do that yourself?”

Shiro glanced down at his arm, brows furrowing, mouth twitching. “What, having no arm?” 

Lance paused, momentarily struck, then plowed on. His mama didn't raise a quitter, “Oh, no, no, not that.” He hesitated a moment, then gestured broadly at the large swatch of color decorating the prosthetic bicep, “I meant the lion. That's something else.”

Shiro watched him, expression caught halfway between disbelief and amusement, “Oh. No, I can't really compensate for the distance.” He rolled his shoulder, pulling the rest of the design into view, “Sometimes I let my apprentice practice on me, but this is Allura's. I'm sure you've seen her stuff.” 

He made a vague motion down his arm and Lance's eyes widened, “She tatted those on herself?” 

Shiro nodded, amused at Lance's disbelief, “She's crazy. Came up with the whole design, too. I had to beg her to let me do her shoulder for her, she wanted to see how far she could go.” 

“That's crazy, dude!” Lance shook his head, disbelieving, “Tell me she didn't do it in one go. That's too much.” 

Shiro laughed and shook his head, “Nah, she broke it down. It was her big project last year.” 

Lance whistled, impressed, “How long did it take her?” 

“Not too long, a couple months in between her stuff. Honestly, she's only on the desk today because Coran called out. Usually she's over there,” Shiro pointed to the empty space at the other end of the room, packed up but with enough room for a second table when wanted. 

“Damn, that's impressive,” Lance hooked his arms over the chair, falling into old habits, easy as pie. “Kinda like someone else.”

Shiro snorted, mouth twitching in a smile, “Yeah, well, you're not exactly starting out small yourself,” He tapped the papers spread out before him; drawing Lance's attention inexorably to the source of his quiet avoidance, “You want sleeves for both arms, huh?” 

Lance nodded, watching him. He licked his lips, “Yup. Just a couple things.” 

Shiro chuckled, flicking through a few more references, finding the mock-ups Lance had spent hours pouring over. He'd even taken pictures of his arms, fiddling with the settings on his not-quote-legally-downloading editing software, until he could superimpose possible designs onto them. He'd been proud of them at the time, but watching Shiro look at them, he felt his cheeks grow hot and something coil low in his stomach. It felt like Shiro was looking into him, not at his pictures. He liked it.

“Like what you see?” He teased, resting his chin on his hand, “I do.” 

Shiro sputtered a laugh, caught entirely off-guard, “Jesus—are you always like this?”

Lance widened his eyes, batting his lashes in mock-surprise, “Like what?”

Shiro coughed, cleared his throat, and looked away. There was a sheen of pink dusting his cheeks, and Lance watched, avid. 

“Let's get back to this--” He shuffled the papers before him, turning one to face Lance, “This is a pretty intricate piece. Is there anything you feel you left out? You want to leave up to me?” 

Lance studied the papers before him, calculating for only a moment, “I'm pretty flexible, honestly,” And he couldn't help the wink he gave the bemused older man, “The most important things I tried to include here,” He leaned forward, brushing Shiro's hand with his finger as he traced the lines, “but other than that, I'm completely fine with you doing whatever you want with me.” 

He glanced up, The tips of Shiro's ears were pink now, too, “That okay, buddy?” 

Shiro's fingers flexed, retreated; he cleared his throat again. “Yeah, that's, that's fine. No problem at all.”

Lance beamed, “Amazing. Anything else you need?” 

The older man blinked at him, then glanced down at the paperwork by his side, as if startled by the reminder of it, “Oh, ah.” He flicked through the pages, settling back into business-mode, but the blush lingered. Lance curled his fingers into his palm to resist the urge to trace it, see if he could make it spread. “I think that's it. I'll need to keep the references, and the designs themselves might take a bit, but Allura will be able to schedule with enough time to do it. We'll have to do multiple sessions for each side, but it's up to you on whether we switch off between them.” He glanced at him, questioning. Lance shrugged.

“Whatever you recommend, Shiro.” He grinned at him, genuine but mischievous, “We can always figure it out as we go.”

“Right,” Shiro muttered, scratching his chin, gaze flicking away from Lance's. The blush was back. “Sounds good.” 

Lance nodded, climbing to his feet and offered a hand, “Thanks Shiro. I really appreciate your help,” He winked; Shiro's adam's apple bobbed.

“I'll go make the appointment with Allura, then?” Lance prompted, hand still outstretched. 

“Oh! Oh, yeah, sorry.” Shiro stumbled to his feet, clasping his hand firmly. Lance held it there for a beat, and the flush return to Shiro's cheeks. 

“See you later, Shiro.” Lance promised , flashing a grin, “I'm looking forward to it.”

“Yeah,” Shiro mumbled, watching Lance as he trotted out, “Same here.”


End file.
